Home For Christmas

I woke up this morning at 5.30am. Which meant I had only slept for two hours. I had gone to bed around 1am, but struggled to fall asleep. I woke up half an hour before the alarm clock was set to go off. I got dressed, drank two glasses of orange juice, brushed my teeth for less than ten seconds, grabbed my bag and left. Today I'm going home for christmas.
I took the bus to the airport. It was crowded and full of frustrated children and stressed out parents. I turned up the volume on my ipod and tried my best to let The Doors drown out all the madness. It seemed every family with an infant was travelling today. But nothing will get me down, because I'm going home for christmas.
At the airport, I check my bag and find the nearest coffee machine. Medicine for the insomniac. I buy some fruit in attempt to jumpstart my body along with the coffee, but there is no fooling this temple. I need sleep and my body is not afraid to tell me. I rest my head back against the wall and try to catch a few minutes, but it does not work. I tell myself I will write a letter to Apple on monday. If Nick Cave turned to the max on my ipod can not block out a family of four, three tables down from me, something needs to be done volume wise. But it's okay. I'm on my way home for christmas.
The plane is packed. Not a single seat to spare. I'm the aisle man, next to a fifty something male passenger who is either talking a lot to himself or trying hard to strike up a conversation with me, even though I've pulled my beanie over my eyes in a demonstrative attempt to show that my priority is sleep. Not chitchat about the lack of leg room on airplanes this day in age. Leave me alone old timer, I'm going home for christmas.
Arriving in my hometown, something magical happens. I'm in my late twenties and have done my share of air travel. I've travelled light, heavy, with skiis, my old dog, my bike, once I even checked in six pieces of luggage. And yet, something is happening right now that I've never seen before. My bag is the first one out on the belt. I really must be asleep. I've never even heard of something like that happening before. I mean, you always see the first bag that comes out but I've always just assumed it belongs to a man who died long ago and the bag has been travelling on that worn out conveyor belt since aviation was a new and sensational form of travel. I take my bag and look around at all the suckers who are shaking in their boots in fear that their luggage will not arrive and that there will be plenty of free space under the tree this year. I walk outside and it is snowing. Finally, a sign that christmas just might be around the corner. My Dad is here to pick me up and we drive straight home. I open the door and the smell of freshly baked bread and dinner in the oven hits. My Mom comes out in the hallway and gives me a kiss. She says; I'm glad you're home for christmas.